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Best Poems Written by Samuel St. Clair

Below are the all-time best Samuel St. Clair poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Muriel

she planted seeds
pulled weeds
grew trees
and was into topiary;

then something grew inside her,
a weed that would not be pulled

the grass grew thick
and everywhere
the crabs thrived
the orchids flourished
and as she was going
the greater they grew
one day she stepped out there
and wilted in the shade
of a giant green flamingo

sometimes i think of her
when it’s hot
pouring pink lemonade.

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Raping the Muse

yeah, right
there where the flower blossoms
and flags
where mustangs rove the prairie
and two nebulas lose their
virginity in a cheap motel
room where you are an
unsaddled bellhop
flogging a dead
idea.

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When Old Men Cry

when the brain is bold
the pen is pregnant;
and nine months stretch
out over an inch 
under the title still
like expectant father
waiting for a kick
and you’ll feel a flurry
but knowing this can be a trick,
those uterine lines
need nutrition,
don’t tear at that gut feeling:
let them gestate for
monday evenings
exceptional in convention
when your lady spills her drink
all over the bathroom floor,
and now your water’s breaking, too
all down your cheeks
and onto your
baby.

Details | Samuel St. Clair Poem

A and E

I went
to a & e
I sat in
the waiting
room with a
man alive by
virtue of a
heartbeat and
a boy who
had swallowed a
dictionary.

Mozart tended
to our head
wounds as a
whiskey priest
stood in the
corner under a
burning redlit
cross that
terrified his 
dandruff.

I asked the
boy his name
and he told
me the
definition of
bourgeoisie and 
disappeared into
theatre as
the heartbeat guy
grinned at me
through a 
mouth like
watermelon.

and after some
time waiting
I realised that
nothing was
wrong with me

Details | Samuel St. Clair Poem

Sympathy For the Thunderbug

There is no sympathy
for the thunderbug
during the summer itch;

framed in salty scenes of
historic naval victories
slapped and thrashed
by palmy waves 
of arrogant hands

you are hated by 
the young and old,
and your very existence
annoys most,
you are small and pointless
just like us, and perhaps
that is it

dear thunderbug,
death chases you 
through the darkened corridors
of children’s thumbs

and I know how dark it can get,
but there is light for you yet

sweet thunderbug,
you are safe
on the side of my 
sour, sour neck.

Details | Samuel St. Clair Poem

Crazier Than Birdsong

There were days
when my ribcage
housed hummingbirds
but they’re long gone now
having died or fled;
all death is fleeing
and often there is
no apparent cause

I listen to the 
sounds lost into the city
and it is
crazier than birdsong;
I manage a smile
and walk on
I think of my escape bone
it’s in there somewhere
lodged in the back of my head
between the unpaid bills
and the singing terror

I take flight and swear I see
a hummingbird.

Details | Samuel St. Clair Poem

My Birdlung

you’re most certain of life
when you’re closest to death;
I recall out on a child-like limb
the rage of bird-bodies underfoot
that once sang overhead
and I know it in my bones
I know it in my blood
that this world is done, call it a gypsy-cab.

and even the taxi drivers speak no more,
just two beady eyes in a dream-catcher rear-view
cursing all the cats that dared them;
the radio set to a sure and simple static

I see the faces of strangers
and I feel like
i could have seen them
a thousand times

they speak no words to me and some
don’t even look at me,
their minds are cracking eggshells
and their mouths are spitting feather;
their thudding arrangements
serenade me to sleep
but my bed is within earshot
of a birdlung that could take
every soothsayer by surprise
and sometimes I think 
that I fell out of the sky with them.